Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
It was easy to see much of her in Ash’s features, though, and in a certain softness to his mannerisms—but little else, as if her well-known departure had left him devoid of an entire half of his cultural heritage, his mannerisms and speech so entirely Western. Brand wondered if Ash ever felt the absence. If he ever felt disconnected from himself. If—
If perhaps Brand should stop fixating on his young Master, before the ache within him grew too overwhelming to bear.
If he were to be entirely honest with himself, it was disturbing. This sudden, sharp sense of need, attraction, possession. And no doubt, were his young Master to know of the dark and covetous thing rearing its head inside Brand…Ashton Harrington would be more than disturbed. He would be incensed, possibly even frightened, when such craving bordered on obsession.
And it made no sense.
Brand forced his mind back onto his responsibilities, and dutifully hung back, waiting until the Harringtons finished their conversation. Ashton’s mother pulled back enough to look at him, smiling and cupping his cheek.
“You look too much like your father when you make that face, little Ash,” Amiko said, then laughed. “Both of you, please close your mouths. And stop staring, you’re embarrassing me.” Her sharp black eyes suddenly snapped to Brand, curious and inquisitive. “Who is this?”
“Brand Forsythe, Ms. Harrington.” Brand dipped briefly, bowing his head. “Personal valet to the younger Master Harrington.”
Amiko answered with a similar bow, almost mocking him with the laughter in her eyes. “It’s a pleasure. Though it’s Miss Arakawa now.”
“Apologies for the indiscretion.”
“Amiko,” Calvin Harrington repeated, raw and desperate, staring at Amiko Arakawa like a man in the desert shown an oasis of water.
Amiko regarded Calvin Harrington thoughtfully, before something softened in her eyes—something Brand couldn’t quite read, before she sighed and rested her hands on her hips. “Don’t you start. You’re the one who let me go,” she said with fond exasperation—then nudged Ash out of the way and took the handles of the wheelchair. “Now come, I can already see you’re tiring yourself out.”
The elder Harrington craned back so that he never took his eyes from the pert little woman fussing over him, even as she wheeled him up the walk—and deftly tipped the wheelchair up the short front steps and into the house.
Leaving Brand and Ash alone, standing on the walk and staring after them.
“I…am not certain I understand what just took place,” Brand said.
Ash shook himself, running a hand through his hair and spiking it up in a tired thatch of black everywhere. “My parents have a really complicated relationship,” he said, drifting closer to Brand. His warmth was a thing like soft prickles, reaching out to touch Brand as he stopped, brushing almost arm to arm. “Dad still loves Mom. She still loves him too, just…not the same way. So she comes, she stays for a little while…and then she runs again.” He shrugged. “I think he holds on to her too hard, and it makes her run away. But they’re still friends. She cares enough to come see him when he’s sick.” A weary smile flitted across his lips. “Sometimes love doesn’t work the way you want it to, but it doesn’t have to turn into hate.”
Brand lingered on that smile, on the ache in it that went deeper than just this night.
And how much of your mother’s son are you, then?
If someone tried to hold on to you too hard, would you run?
“That was a remarkably astute observation,” Brand murmured.
Ash snorted. “You don’t have to say ‘remarkably.’” At Brand’s flat look, he made an indignant sound. “You don’t! I’m not that much of an oblivious little shit!”
Brand bit his tongue and held back a smile. “Far be it from me to disagree with my young Master.”
Ash eyed him sidelong, the faint tug at his lips almost coy. He leaned over enough to bump Brand’s arm with his shoulder. “Why do I pay you?”
“You could stop.”
“Mm.” Ash straightened, settling once more, hands in his pockets as he tipped his head back to look up at the brightening sky. “Would you leave if I did?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” Brand answered, and Ash grinned.
“Let me know when you do,” he said, and tossed his head toward the house. “Come on. Let’s go get Dad settled now that he’s back home.”
“GETTING CALVIN HARRINGTON SETTLED” MOSTLY involved Brand leaving the suitcase in the elder Harrington’s suite of rooms before both he and Ashton were bullied out by Amiko Arakawa, leaving them both standing bemused outside the door to Harrington’s rooms while it closed in their faces.
Brand glanced at Ashton. Ashton looked back at him, then shrugged ruefully. “That’s my mom,” he said, and that was the end of that.
At least, this morning, Brand didn’t have to fight Ashton to usher him into a shower and dress him afterward. If anything Ashton was almost too docile, withdrawn into himself, the haze of exhaustion a near palpable cloud around him. Brand had to avert his eyes as Ashton began stripping down without a second thought, just a moment’s impropriety letting Brand linger on the smooth curves of pale golden shoulders dotted with sun-freckles like spatters of cinnamon, begging to be bitten.